The sound of boots splashing in the current carried through the fog, low and rhythmic — deliberate. These men weren't rushing in recklessly; they were advancing with the steady confidence of professionals who knew their quarry was close.
Kairo pushed deeper into the pines, every step silent despite the frost and loose needles underfoot. Beside him, Elira matched his pace, her breathing even now that the sprint had settled into a predator's walk.
A sharp crack of a branch snapped to their left. Kairo froze, holding up two fingers — a signal to halt. Elira dropped low, scanning the gloom.
Through the mist, three shapes emerged on the far side of a fallen spruce. Dark coats. Weapons raised. Moving in a staggered line, just like military drills.
Kairo leaned close enough for his breath to fog the air between them. "Two more behind them. Five total on this flank."
"Lucio?" Elira whispered.
"If he did his job, they're tracking him instead of us." Kairo's eyes stayed locked on the advancing men. "But I don't gamble on maybe."
He motioned her back, then drew the suppressed pistol from under his coat. He waited until the first man stepped into a small gap between the trees — just far enough from his companions to be isolated. One shot. No echo. The man crumpled silently into the frost.
The other two stiffened instantly, swinging toward the sound. Kairo was already moving, cutting a low arc behind a stand of pines. Elira stepped in from the opposite side, her knife flashing once before she slid back into cover. The second man folded to his knees, a startled gasp swallowed by the cold.
The third fired — wild, too quick — the shot tearing bark inches from Elira's shoulder. She dropped flat, rolled, and came up with her sidearm steady. One squeeze of the trigger, and his body fell hard against the roots of the fallen spruce.
Kairo scanned the treeline again, listening. No shouts. No rush of boots.
"They haven't realized these three are down yet," he said. "Move."
They ghosted deeper into the forest, angling north. The terrain began to rise, the ground hard with frost and scattered with broken stone. Above them, the pines thinned, letting in slashes of pale winter light.
By the time they reached the ridge, the sound of the river was faint — but the echo of pursuit was back. This time, it was closer.
"Either Lucio's trail didn't hold them," Elira said, "or they split their team."
Kairo crouched low, eyes scanning the slope ahead. "Split. Which means they're trying to box us in."
He traced a line in the frost with his gloved finger — a curve leading east. "There's an abandoned hunting post near the bend. We get there first, we hold the high ground."
"And if they get there first?"
Kairo's mouth curved — not a smile, just a tightening. "Then we take it from them."
They moved again, faster now, knowing the window was closing. The forest around them felt tighter, the quiet broken only by the occasional crow and the faint click of a rifle bolt being chambered somewhere out of sight.
The hunting post was little more than a skeleton of rotting planks clinging to the side of an old oak, the ladder half gone, the wood dark with age and damp. It had been built to watch deer trails in quieter times, not for war. But from here, Kairo could see down the slope toward the bend in the ridge — a natural choke point.
He motioned for Elira to take position in the hollow of a fallen log just below the post. From there, she'd have a clean sightline across the approach while staying almost invisible.
Kairo climbed the last intact section of the ladder, pulling himself up onto the platform. The boards groaned under his weight, but he kept low, crouching against the rail. He could feel the cold biting through his gloves as he checked his rifle, chambering a round with a muted click.
The forest felt still, but it was the kind of stillness that meant something was about to break.
Elira caught his eye and pointed two fingers to the east, then made a slicing motion — movement, cutting across their flank.
Kairo adjusted his scope. Through the gaps in the pines, he saw them: three men in staggered formation, keeping low. One scanned ahead, the second covered their rear, the third moved with the ease of someone who'd done this too many times to count.
Not hired thugs. Not street soldiers. These were trained hunters.
Kairo waited until they were nearly at the bend. Then he fired once, the suppressed shot cracking through the cold air. The lead man jerked backward and fell without a sound.
The other two dove for cover instantly, returning fire toward the post. Splinters burst from the railing near Kairo's head. He shifted, keeping his profile low, and took a second shot. The man covering their rear pitched forward, his rifle slipping from his grasp.
The last one didn't panic. He didn't shout. He simply changed position, moving in a tight arc that would put him under the post's blind side.
"Elira," Kairo murmured into the small mic clipped inside his collar.
"I see him," came her reply.
The crack of her pistol was sharp in the air, and the man collapsed mid-step, his body hitting the frost with a dull thud.
Silence again.
Kairo scanned the treeline below. That had been one flank. The others would be coming soon, maybe from the west. He could almost feel the clock ticking in his head — not in seconds, but in opportunities lost if they stayed here too long.
A faint rustle to the west broke his thought. Then another.
"Kairo," Elira's voice was low but urgent, "six more, moving fast."
He caught the movement through the trees — not a slow, careful advance like before, but a push. They were closing the gap. If they made it to the base of the ridge, they'd be too close for the height advantage to matter.
Kairo's decision was instant. "Hold the post for thirty seconds, then fall back north. I'll cover you."
Elira didn't argue — not because she liked the plan, but because she trusted him enough to move without hesitation. She adjusted her grip on the pistol, eyes locked on the advancing shapes.
The first of them broke into the open, and Kairo fired — quick, controlled shots, dropping two before they could hit the dirt. The others scattered, diving behind trees, returning fire in short bursts.
The old oak shuddered as rounds slammed into it, bark splintering, chunks of rotten wood falling to the ground. Kairo shifted his position, taking advantage of the gaps between shots.
"Twenty seconds," he called.
Elira's pistol barked twice, and another man went down. She moved like water between positions, never staying in one spot long enough to be targeted.
Fifteen seconds.
The enemy fire slowed — not because they were retreating, but because they were repositioning. Kairo could hear the crunch of boots on frost as two tried to circle wide, cutting off their northern exit.
He fired at one, forcing him to dive for cover. "Move, Elira."
She broke from her position, sprinting low and fast up the ridge's north side. Kairo kept the fire on the advancing men, emptying the last of his magazine before sliding down from the post.
They regrouped at the top of the ridge, breath visible in the cold air, boots digging into the frost-hardened earth.
"West ridge is too hot," Elira said. "We need to cut east and drop into the low ground."
Kairo nodded once. "We keep moving until they stop chasing — or until we make them regret following at all."
Below them, voices called out — sharp, frustrated. The pursuit wasn't over.
But the forest ahead was theirs for now, and Kairo intended to use every shadow it offered.